I Know You Got Some Issues
by geekgeekinsgeekles
Summary: Hannah's home life is super awkward right now. All her dad and step-mom do is fight and sometimes she gets the vibe her step-sister has a creepy crush on her. She starts hanging out at the infamous Murder House with the mass murderer's ghost, Tate Langdon. But hey, sometimes weird finds weird and they call it love. And that can either make things better or worse.
1. Chapter 1

Hannah could hear her dad and step-mother screaming from the street as she approached the house still dressed in her high school's track jersey and shorts. Practice had been grueling, but the thought of walking in that house while another world war was brewing twisted Hannah's insides. Instead, she put her back pack on the porch, and began jogging down the street – all screams fading away.

Running had turned out to be Hannah's hidden talent; she was the fastest on the team, but had only started training at the beginning of the season. The worse her father's marriage got, the more she escaped into these peaceful suburban runs and it was looking like it was all going to be worth it as more and more colleges showed interest in her abilities. Hannah had already decided she'd take the offer that took her the furthest away from LA.

Slowly, the sun sank behind the hills and the street lamps flickered on, but Hannah kept running. Sometimes she'd pretend that she could run into oblivion – just keep going until she was in a totally different state where she could be a totally different person.

Exhausted, she finally collapsed onto a beautifully manicured yard. It had to be close to nine o'clock – she had been running all day. Sweat flowed freely across her face and her knees ached. Tomorrow was going to be hell. After a while Hannah picked herself up and stumbled over to the house's garden hose. This was her favorite part, feeling the cold water work its way through her hair and down her back. The twitching of overworked nerves calmed slightly and she began to drink deeply from the flow of water, slurping like all sexy ladies do.

When she had had her fill, Hannah carefully placed the hose as she had found it and made her way back to the street. Home still didn't feel like an appetizing option, so she continued her stroll. A few houses up the street she came to THE house of the neighborhood. It's yard was over grown and several of the windows had been knocked out. The kids at school called it the Murder House.

Hannah could remember when it was a nice place, she had even talked to the daughter of the tragic Harmon family once before. Hannah had only been twelve, but she remembered the girl being nice. As she stopped in the drive way, Hannah wondered where the hell Violet Harmon was now. Rumor had it that she had gone to Alabama where a teenage girl could raise a kid without too many questions. Over the years, Hannah had heard a lot of other stories about Murder House, too all of them fascinating. She didn't think she had the courage to pull a B&E on the place, but walking around the grounds wouldn't be too bad - just one more weapon in her arsenal of avoiding home.

The windows looked like black voids ready to suck her in. She was reminded of all those corny real life ghost story shows on TV when they talk about faces appearing in the windows. A chill ran down her back and she decided to focus on the other parts of the house. Like the crumbling brick and how little of it she could actually see. Luckily, the back yard was slightly more inviting as it was hit directly with moon light. In the center was a gazebo where Hannah decided to rest for awhile.

Once you get used to the looming house of death, it's really kind of peaceful, Hannah thought. LA never really varied in weather, but now that it was firmly Fall things got quieter much sooner. The whole energy of the neighborhood was different. Hannah missed listening to the kids scream and laugh with the joy of summer. A gentle breeze kissed her cheeks and coaxed her to lie back on the gazebo bench. Home felt like such a far way to go and it felt so nice and peaceful here; this was the first time in months Hannah was able to feel peace sitting still. Slowly her eyes began to droop. Her thoughts became sluggish and disjointed. Just before she slipped into a sleep, Hannah became aware of the person standing over her.

"Holy shit," she hissed as she was jerked back awake with shock. Without waiting for an introduction from who she could clearly make out now to be a boy around her age, Hannah bolted over the side of the gazebo and began to make for the street. As the drive way came into view Hannah saw that the boy had somehow gotten there first. Hannah made a sharp turn to jump the wooden fence, but suddenly the boy's hands were grabbing her shoulders and throwing her to the ground.

"Fuck you," Hannah shouted. She got to her feet, ready to fight, but the boy just gave her a cold stare. "You're not gonna do shit to me, you got that?" He looked like one of the hipster kids from school with his flannel and greasy blonde hair. "If you're, like, doing drugs or whatever I won't say anything. Just let me go."

"What are you doing here," the boy asked finally.

"Killing time."

"You go to Westfield?"

The question caught Hannah off guard, but then she remembered she was still in her jersey. "Yeah…yeah, I do. Do you?"

"I got thrown out."

"Lucky." The boy's hard stare softened slightly.

"It's a shithole, right?"

"What high school isn't, though?"

The boy's face softened even more. For a second Hannah was sure he was going to smile. "Do you always kill time by sleeping in random backyards?"

"It could become a hobby. Do you always scare the living shit out of ladies just trying to catch some Zs?"

He finally cracked a smile. "It's basically my thing."

"Nice," Hannah looked up at the moon, unsure of what to say next. "Well, I should go."

"I'll show you the house if you want," he stepped forward and suddenly had a pleading look on his face. Hannah didn't know how to take this hard guy suddenly turning into a desperate little boy.

"I – uh…?"

"What? Are you scared? I promise I won't murder you or anything."

"How do you get in?"

"I live here."

Hannah's eyebrows shot up and she scoffed in exasperation. "You live here?

"Okay, well I don't exactly _live_ here. I just sort of inhabit the place." The guy was suddenly acting very nervous and Hannah was starting to feel the same. Who the fuck did he think he was?

"You're losing me, pal."

"What's your name?"

"Hannah…."

"I'm Tate."

"Nice to meet you…what do you mean you 'inhabit' this place?"

"I'm Tate Langdon."

Hannah's eyes widened and suddenly it felt like all of the blood in her body had turned to concrete. She remembered exactly who Tate Langdon was from the plaque outside of her school. "That's not funny."

"I'm being serious."

"Fuck off," Hannah began backing away.

"You just seemed cool and different and I just wanted to be honest," the desperation was getting more intense in his eyes as he moved forward towards Hannah.

"You're acting like a fucking psycho."

Tate suddenly had razors for eyes and his jaw tightened, "Don't say that. Don't CALL me that."

"I'm leaving," Hannah began walking fast towards the street. She heard Tate's footsteps behind her. "I'll kick you in the nuts, dude."

"Please, I'm sorry. I just want someone to hang out with! I just wanted to tell the truth."

"Fuck off, crazy," Hannah took off running down the street as fast as she could.

Tate bellowed furiously behind her, "DON'T CALL ME CRAZY!"


	2. Chapter 2

There was still an unsettled feeling in the pit of Hannah's stomach when her alarm went off the next morning. It had taken hours for her to calm down enough just to fall asleep and even then she had tossed and turned all night. She didn't know what was crazier: the fact the events of last night had happened or that she was finding herself believing that guy was really Tate Langdon. She knew a kid from the church Sandra dragged them to sometimes who had a relative killed in the 1994 shooting. Her school had had a ten year memorial her freshman year, but no one ever said much about Tate Langdon. It seemed like no one wanted to acknowledge the kid wielding the guns was even real. The more Hannah thought about it she didn't even know what he looked like.

Opening the laptop next to her in bed, Hannah typed in the name "Tate Langdon Westfield" into the Google search bar. "Oh shit. Oh shit!" Hannah yelped as 600 pictures of the boy she had talked to the night before popped up on screen. She began to feel as if she might vomit.

Right at that moment her fourteen-year-old step-sister, Nichole popped the door open to shove her worried face into the room. "You okay?"

Hannah felt like a deer in headlights, "Huh," she slammed the laptop shut. Nichole came over and sat on the bed as Hannah automatically scooted to keep a sizeable amount of distance between them. Nichole had proved to be an interesting addition to the family. At first what just seemed like cute little sister trying to impress big sister quickly turned into creepy obsession. She kept insisting they shower together to save time in the morning which Hannah found funny at first, but now she mostly took showers at school after practice.

"I thought I heard you scream," Nichole said, stroking Hannah's hair tenderly before resting her hand on her cheek. Seriously, their parents had been married a year and had only briefly dated before. "Is that fucking normal," Hannah had repeatedly asked her friends as she relayed story after story.

Hannah swatted Nichole's hand away, "I just remembered I forgot to do a homework assignment."

"Oh, you need some help," Nichole rested her freshly swatted hand on Hannah's knee.

"No. Get outta here, I have to change."

"Okay," Nichole said, standing, "Oh, hey – that new Jonah Hill movie is playing up the street. Want to go after school?"

"I can't. Practice. See you tonight?"

"Yeah, I'll be here if you want to -," Hannah shut the door in her face before opening the computer again. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Was she going crazy? She suddenly felt like she was, like her grip on reality had just deteriorated in the matter of time it took to search a name.

"What the fuck," she asked herself.

"Hannah," her father was knocking. "Let's go! I gotta get to work."

"You go ahead, Dad! I'm going to walk today."

"Alright. Come and eat then – the day beautiful and so are you!"

The nerves in Hannah's arms tensed as she rolled her eyes in teenage annoyance. "Fine, whatever."

In the kitchen Sandra, Hannah's step-mom, had her usual Beaver Cleaver breakfast laid out of eggs, turkey bacon, toast, and fresh fruit. Her dad and Nichole were already there – he was reading the paper as he munched on overly processed turkey meat. What a delightful knock-off of a nuclear family, Hannah thought as she made a beeline for the coffee maker.

"You shouldn't drink that stuff, Hannah," Sandra started in. "It'll stunt your growth."

"I'm eighteen and five foot seven, Sandra," Hannah put on a fake smile. "I think I'll be okay." She took a sip.

"I just don't think that's a proper drink for a young lady."

"I'm an old soul."

"Hannah Banana, don't talk back to Sandra," Hannah's father started in. He didn't even look up from his paper. It was more of a mechanical response than him actually giving a flip, but Hannah felt herself get red.

"We're just discussing a difference of opinion," she mumbled into her coffee.

"Hannah, it would be nice if you gave me a little more respect. Sometimes it feels like you don't even like me," Sandra pouted in this weird fake way she did when she wanted to be cute.

"Maybe I don't," Hannah shot back, only half joking.

"Hannah," Dad was looking up now with blazing eyes. "Enough."

"Oh, Dad – I was just kidding! I like Sandra a lot," She sipped the coffee to hide her grimace. "Woah, look at the time," Hannah looked at her bare wrist with false enthusiasm. "Gotta go family! Don't want to be late for school." Without waiting for or giving any good-byes she headed out of the kitchen to the front door, coffee cup still in hand. School felt like too much of a drag to put up with for the day. Right then there was only one place Hannah had any interest in being at all.

The front windows on the porch were boarded up when Hannah trotted up the steps. There were cracks, though, where she could look in and see the interior. Hannah's jaw dropped slightly at how spotless the inside of the house was. The floors gleamed and it looked as if the glass from the broken windows around the house had been cleaned up. Ghosts keep a tidy house, she thought.

"Tate," Hannah yelled after getting her fill of the scene. "You…uh, there? Tate!"

"What," his voice was right next to her and Hannah nearly leaped out of her skin.

He had a shoulder against the brick wall and his arms were crossed as he gave Hannah an eat shit and die glare. Hannah returned his glare with curiosity, unable to really grasp that this was the dead boy she had seen in the pictures earlier. Honestly, he did look like he could kill somebody with those eyes. They were filled with anger and hate and the rims were red as if he had been crying. The rest of him looked…well, pretty hot. It was shallow, but Hannah was always amazed when good-looking people turned out to be psycho.

"So you are Tate Langdon," she said finally.

"That's me."

"You killed all those kids and you're dead?"

"Yeah," there wasn't an iota of discomfort to be had anywhere on the boy.

Despite having been eager to talk to him again, Hannah felt fear bubbling inside her again as he confirmed everything. Tate looked at her again as if looking for a reaction or any sign of weakness. Hannah had wanted to be a lion tamer as a kid and watched video after video about big cats. The first rule was to never show fear. When you showed fear you became prey. As Hannah became more and more uncomfortable with the intensity of Tate's watch, she remembered that first rule.

"You're scared," he stated finally.

"No. This is just a lot to process."

"Why did you come back?"

"You can't just meet someone and then run screaming into the night just cause they're dead and not come back to apologize." Tate actually smiled at this. "I'm sorry," Hannah said, silently being amazed at how cool she was keeping herself under the circumstances. She was even smiling back at the dead, mass murdering fellow in front of her.

"It's okay…but, I'm not crazy," his eyes glinted as he said that.

"What?"

"You called me crazy last night. I used to be, like when I killed those kids, but I'm not now. I've really straightened myself out now."

"Okay," Hannah said, feeling uncomfortable and a little sad. He was trying to play it like none of it was a big deal, but Hannah remembered how he had screamed the night before.

"I just don't want you to be afraid of me or anything, you know?"

"Yeah, no – I'm not. I believe you. I was just freaked out last night. If you say you're not crazy, I believe you."

"Thanks," he said with relief.

"Sure, dude."

They then fell into the most awkward silence Hannah had ever experienced. What the hell do you say to someone from the great beyond? Did it hurt? What's it like to be dead? Do you miss eating? Did you die a virgin…? None of these felt like appropriate questions.

"Sooo…," was all she could offer.

"I bet you're thinking, 'What does a dead teenager do for fun around here,'" he leaned forward a little with a sarcastic smirk that made Hannah grin nervously back. At least she knew the day was going to be interesting. At least she knew that.


End file.
